


low frequency, high amplitude

by Underthebluerain



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst and Humor, Aphrodisiacs, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, From Sex to Love, Fuckbuddies, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Smut, Temple of Procreation (Red vs. Blue), except for s16, in as much as just sex is a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-13 10:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underthebluerain/pseuds/Underthebluerain
Summary: The sex is just a way to release tension. It’s a system that works. At first.





	low frequency, high amplitude

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Grimmons Prompts v3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785055) by [LegendaryBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBard/pseuds/LegendaryBard). 



In Blood Gulch, it’s just a way to release tension.  


Simmons is hot, and exasperated, and tired of following stupid orders that he won’t ever admit are stupid. He gets on top of Grif and rides him until he can’t walk.  


Grif is hot, and bitter, and tired of following stupid orders that no one else will admit are stupid. He lays back in bed with his dick up Simmons’ ass and lets him do the work.  


Simmons gets to lose his virginity and still feel in charge, and Grif gets to be lazy and still have sex. Neither of them has to worry about feelings, or about defining what this relationship is. They’re both there, they’re both horny, they’re both willing. It’s a perfect system.  


While it lasts.  


***  


After Grif’s accident, they don’t do it again.  


At first, Grif thinks it’s normal —they both just got out of life-threatening surgery, and while Sarge doesn’t have any of those ‘do’s and don’ts’ hospital pamphlets to give, they’re smart enough to know sex is probably off the table for a while.  


A while, though. It’s been three months.  


Grif wonders, looking in the mirror, if Simmons has just lost interest or if it freaks him out to fuck parts of himself. Which is fair.  


He doesn’t know how to breach the subject with Simmons. The first time around, they’d been standing in the rooftop and he just said, “Hey, you wanna fuck?”, watched as Simmons choked and spluttered and had a meltdown, and three days later Simmons had come to him and they had fucked in their room. It had been Simmons’ first time. He only told Grif later, not that Grif didn’t already suspect.  


But how is he gonna do it this time? “Hey, you wanna fuck, or are you too disgusted by this whole bodyswap thing?”  


He also wonders if _Simmons_ wonders whether Grif feels that way about the cybernetics. Grif will admit they are weird, but he can probably work with that. Weird but bearable has sort of become the norm for his life.  


***  


Rat’s Nest, Grif thinks, is the closest they get to having hate sex.  


They probably could’ve had it before —he knows Simmons hated him when they first started sharing a room back in basic and he discovered how messy Grif was, and Grif hated him right back for being such a prissy motherfucker— but they weren’t having sex at that point, so. Wasted opportunity.  


But right now Simmons is brittle and anxious because he’s just left everything and everyone else he’s known for the last few years (as if Grif hasn’t), he’s left the only authority figure he had behind (as shitty an authority figure as Sarge is), and to top it off, Grif has been promoted to Sergeant over him (that one Grif will admit he didn’t expect, but damn if it doesn’t amuse him).  


So. Plenty of concentrated rage and hatred, right there. Perfect breeding ground for hate sex.  


Grif finds this out while they’re having what has to be their fifth argument of the first day there, when Simmons is yelling at him and he’s answering in the low, nonchalant tone of voice that he knows winds Simmons up in a fight, because it makes Grif sound as if he doesn’t care about anything. Which he doesn’t.  


Simmons grabs him mid-sentence and presses him against the wall, bites his mouth —not kissing, they never kiss— until he shuts up, and they’re both hard and rutting against each other. Simmons pulls him off the wall and on top of the table, Grif’s brand new, official Sergeant business table, and lowers himself on Grif’s dick as soon as he can, and they fuck harder than Grif can ever remember fucking.  


He doesn’t know if Simmons is fucking him or if he’s fucking Simmons. They’re both getting thoroughly fucked, though, so he reasons he doesn’t really need to know.  


When they’re done, both still breathless, Simmons leaves. Grif doesn’t go after him.  


The only problem with the hate sex is that they don’t hate each other. Which is a pity, Grif thinks, because it’d make everything simpler. And probably even hotter.  


***  


After they almost get executed by their own men, they don’t do it.  


Grif suspects —no, he knows— it has to do with whatever Simmons wanted to say when they were about to get shot. Which is not the best situation to say anything, because what’s the fucking point? What was he even going to say that could only be said in that moment? “Grif, sorry, but I always hated you? By the way, I lied, I actually lost my virginity to Donut? Hey fellas, for our last wish, we wanna go out with a bang. Grif, you wanna fuck?”  


Honestly, the last one would’ve been worth it just for the look on the other guys’ faces. Not that Simmons would ever say that out loud in front of other people. Or in front of Grif. Or ever.  


But the thing is, whatever it was, Grif didn’t want to know. I mean, what? He’s always accused of being lazy, but Simmons is the one who procrastinates saying something until their quasi-literal deathbed so he can turn it into an emotional movie ending, cue the credits? Fuck that. Fuck emotions in general, honestly. Grif hasn’t ever dealt with them while he was alive, and he’s not about to start when he’s going to die.  


So, Ruin Moment. Mission status: accomplished.  


On top of cutting his dying speech short, this has the side effect of angering Simmons. Unintended but not unwanted, because this puts them back on their usual dynamic, bickering like hell, which if Grif were a more dramatic man he would say is an appropriate way to end their story together.  


But then Sarge saves them and the Moment is ruined in a different way. And now Grif will never know what Simmons was about to say, except before he was just going to die not knowing, and now he has to live wondering.  


Point is, Simmons is pissed and won’t have sex with him.  


Grif pretends this doesn’t bother him as much as it does.  


***  


After Sidewinder, they only do it once.  


The very night after they’ve left the Meta and the cliff and the UNSC behind, Simmons sneaks into his room when everyone’s in bed. His eyes look a little wet and Grif can’t say he’s doing so great himself, so he doesn’t comment on it. None of them say anything during, or before, or after. The frantic way they cling to each other gets a pass because none of them want to explain it. He tries not to look at Simmons, because he makes the mistake of doing it once and finds he can’t handle the look on his face. He keeps his teary, desperate eyes fixed on Grif like he’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. He’s spread out over Grif, closer than he’s ever been. Grif buries his face in Simmons’ neck. It’s short, it’s intense, and they come with cries that sound a lot like sobs.  


Grif wakes up in the morning to find they’re closely pressed together, and tightly holding hands. The same hands that had been separated at the edge of the cliff mere hours before.  


Grif is warm and held and goes back to sleep.  


***  


Once Carolina gets them on the road, their only option, as immature as it sounds, is quickies.  


They barely get any breaks, and most of them aren’t really enough time to sleep. For everyone except Grif, who is a master of his craft and can fall asleep in ten seconds if he so chooses, Simmons can vouch for it. Still, he knows Grif gets cranky when he gets waken up after what feels like minutes and is in fact minutes, so he needs another distraction. And frankly, so does Simmons.  


They find any crevice, any nook, and they make do. They don’t even waste time getting naked, they strip down to their black undersuits and fondle each other until they come. It’s fast and it’s rough and anyone could find them at any moment, but it feels like the only way they can stay sane during this trip.  


Thinking about it afterwards, Simmons is surprised to realize that these days it’s usually a tie between Grif and himself on who takes charge and presses the other against the wall.  


He’s also surprised to find he doesn’t mind.  


***  


Chorus is when things get... complicated.  


Simmons would blame it on the fact that they’re in a warzone, if they hadn’t been living in one all these years. Still, unlike any of their other makeshift homes, Chorus actually feels trapped in the middle of a hopeless war. The air is always charged with an electric desperation and everyone seems on the verge of falling apart all the time.  


The first time it happens there, Grif is having a breakdown over being made a leader. He’s rambling and he’s pacing and he’s yelling and Simmons doesn’t know how to calm him down, because he’s never seen Grif give a shit about anything so much, and because he doesn’t even know how to calm himself down most of the time. So he does the only thing he can think of and impulsively kisses him.  


He only realizes that he’s broken one of their unspoken rules later, when they’re lying side by side in bed, naked and exhausted. He’s coming down from the high, those few, precious seconds in which he doesn’t think about anything, and then his mind, always helpful, decides to remind him that he’s kissed Grif so he can start freaking out about it. Sure, he’s fucked him afterwards, so it’s not just some romantic mushy shit, but he’s still kissed Grif. His mind, not always a traitor, points out that Grif seemed to be pretty into it.  


It’s weird that their first kiss —he feels odd even just thinking that, like Grif might somehow hear it and laugh in his face for thinking things straight out of a romantic teen movie script— has taken place years after they first had sex. Simmons thinks it’s weird, anyway. He doesn’t really have anything else to compare it to, what with Grif being the entirety of his sexual —not romantic, because this isn’t romantic— experience.  


Simmons wonders what the hell is wrong with them that they can’t have sex like normal people —or like he imagines normal people have sex, anyway— , that there’s always a fight or a near-death experience or a mission or just whatever’s inside their own fucked up heads that drives them to it.  


This is such a mess of feelings and sweat and urgency and history that he’s glad nobody else knows about this relationship, because they might ask him to define it, and he doesn’t even know how to explain it to himself.  


***  


After they free Chorus, they spend the whole night together.  


Simmons thinks this doesn’t really break their pattern —it’s still a world-shattering, tragic event that brings them together, after all. They lost a teammate, and several soldiers, and almost lost more.  


But he can’t deny that this was a liberation, a victory, and so this is more positive than the usual set up.  


Maybe that’s why it’s different this time.  


For starters, Simmons is the one lying in bed with Grif on top of him, bodies pressed impossibly close, and Grif has been kissing Simmons for what feels like hours.  


Grif hasn’t even touched him below the waist or taken off his clothes yet, but Simmons is already breathless. When Grif pulls away, he chases after him and they kiss again. Grif’s mouth is warm and wet and Simmons thinks he loves him.  


***  


Simmons has never tried an aphrodisiac, because he’s never needed it. Before, nobody was interested in him that way, so it didn’t make any sense to try, and after, well, he’s never really needed anything else to get hard when Grif is involved. Not that Simmons would tell him that, because it’d make Grif super smug, and as hot as that look is on him, Simmons still has some dignity left.  


Even if he’d needed it, though, he’s never believed that all that crap about aphrodisiac foods that shows up in Donut’s magazines was a real thing. And even if he did believe, he’s not about to start swallowing jalapeños and ginger like a lunatic, not even for the promise of amazing sex.  


The Temple of Procreation, though, is definitely a real thing.  


Simmons doesn’t know what it was exactly. Tucker did something and there was a light and now a lot of people want to have a lot of sex. He is relieved to find, though, that it seems to work like he’d expect an actual aphrodisiac to, assuming an entire planet took it at the same time.  


In his search for Grif —typical, they spend almost every waking moment together, and lately some sleeping moments, but now he’s nowhere to be found— he’s seen people getting propositioned and getting it on in the hallways, but he’s also seen people getting rejected and walking away, and people just going to watch some TV and wait for this whole thing to blow over.  


In Simmons’ case, he’s spent the last fifteen minutes getting progressively hornier and more frustrated because he needs to get fucked and where the fuck is Grif?  


It takes him five more minutes of wandering, trying not to look like he’s looking for Grif at this moment because nobody else knows about them yet, and he can’t blow it up just because of an alien jalapeño beam thingy, to find Grif in the middle of a hallway, looking a little lost.  


For a second, Simmons considers turning on his heel and leaving —if Grif doesn’t want this, Simmons will just make sure he’s okay and then go to his room and take care of things himself— but then Grif spots him and they both sort of lunge at each other, and then they’re making out against a closet door.  


They reach a new record that day. Apparently, alien Viagra works wonders.  


***  


When Grif stays and Simmons leaves, they don’t do it because they’re separated by miles and miles of empty space with no way of getting closer.  


***  


After destroying the time machine, they all go back to Chorus for a respite.  


Simmons has been replaying all that has happened in his mind, the emptiness of knowing him and Grif were on opposite sides of the universe, his talk with Grif about why he’d quit, his answer to the question —their question—, the terrifying, paralyzing image of Grif facing the barrel of Temple’s gun. He feels too full of something and he doesn’t know what feeling it’s supposed to be. Doesn’t know what to do.  


It turns out that his feet have taken him to Grif’s room, or what used to be Grif’s room. He knocks, but there’s no response. He goes back to his own quarters, half expecting to see Grif right at Simmons’ door, waiting for him, but he’s not there either. He knows he won’t be able to fall asleep, so he goes up to the rooftop.  


Grif is standing there, because of course he is. He’s looking at the stars.  


Simmons wants to go stand next to him. They can look at the stars.  


He thinks he might have run to him, given how Grif turns before he’s even said his name. A good thing, too, because Simmons is speechless for some reason.  


“Couldn’t find you. Thought you’d be here,” Grif says, and he’s breathless too. Since he returned from the moon, he’s been more talkative than ever, and that’s saying something. Maybe because talkative is not the right word. He speaks so fast now, sentences fractured, and sometimes there’s an odd Spanish sentence in the middle of it all. 

Before, Grif spoke like he had all the time in the world, now he speaks like he’s running out of time.  


It takes Simmons a while to find his voice, and when he does, he blows it, as usual. “Yeah.”  


Grif is looking at him, and his eyes are so intense that they make Simmons want to turn around and flee, he doesn’t know where, but he’d disappoint Grif and he’s done that enough and he never wants to leave Grif alone again for as long as he lives if he can help it.  


Grif raises a hand and it looks like he’s about to put it on Simmons’ cheek, and it hits Simmons that it might be now or never, that there’s no world-ending catastrophe or killer soldier menacing them but they’re still them and still on the verge of losing each other, and this might be the running out of time that Grif is afraid of.  


For a horrible moment, Simmons thinks he won’t be able to say anything, and Grif will lower his hand and walk away and that’ll be it.  


But then he finds the something-feeling inside, he doesn’t know where, and says it. “I know why I’m here.”  


And it’s not exactly eloquent, or romantic, it’s not the apology that Grif merits or the confession he deserves, not yet. But it’s theirs.  


And it seems to be enough, because Grif smiles and his hand is cupping Simmons’ cheek. “Me too.”  


Simmons feels about to burst with that unnamed feeling, and he knows Grif does too.  


And if it’s taken eight years, ending a war, and being separated by an entire universe for them to begin to learn how to communicate, well, Simmons isn’t that surprised.

**Author's Note:**

> The first fragment was inspired by the prompt "Easy" as written in _Grimmons Prompts v3_ by LegendaryBard.  
>   
> By the way, studies find that Viagra actually has little to no effect on libido, but the words “alien Viagra” popped into my head and so they just had to be included.  
>   
> This fic was way more explicit in my head, but I am bad at smut apparently (in my defense, it was my first try). In my head it was all about the sex but when writing it down it became about so much more than that, which I think is better because I’m a sap at heart.  
> 


End file.
